When I was younger, my mom didn't allow us to hang posters on our wall. I know it is a rite of passage to do that, but I totally understood where she was coming from because our old house had this intricate wooden panelling that wouldn't hold a thumbtack--it was nearly impossible to get a tack into the panelling. (Sorry, Mom, I did try a few times. . .) As a compromise, she allowed us to hang some stuff on our closet door. My sisters had lots of pictures they put up, and I chose one. It was a picture of Corey Haim that I got out of one of those "Teen Beat" kind of magazines. I chose it because I loved him, and it was similar to this:
My teenage self cried a little when the news of Corey Haim's death came in this week and it got my thinking about what life was like in the days of Corey Haim posters on my wall. I remember thinking about what I would say to him if I met him, I envisioned myself opposite to him in movies--y'know, normal teenage girl stuff. (At least I hope that is normal!) And I got to thinking about my book, because well, I am always thinking about my book, and I thought about falling in love with people we have never met. It was like those daydreams allowed me to experience "practice" feelings before they really happened. I think that is what a lot of young adult books do for teens now. They give them a chance to have "safe" vicarious feelings without the risk of real broken hearts or even real rejection.
I am still glad I got to live in a world that had a Corey Haim.